Star Wars Episode VII: The Rise Of Admiral Ackbar
by Sivad Ttarp
Summary: A sneak peek at Star Wars episode 7.


Star Wars Episode VII: The Rise of Admiral Ackbar

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

Whoever called Mos Espa the most wretched hive of scum and villainy had not spent enough time in the Coruscant underworld. Despite all the flaws of the galactic empire, despite corruption, fanaticism, paranoia and immorality, Palpatine had really started to clean the planet up.

The hero had seen it before. New unsinkable empire rises, starts putting a stop to crime once other more important things, like murdering the galaxy's greatest philanthropically peacekeeping force, are accomplished, empire overthrown, panic ensues, more chaos, more crime. It was a cycle almost as unpleasant as the grammatical qualities of that previous sentence.

Coruscant was nice and shiny if you were an aristocrat, but down here it reeked. Garbage and refuse heaped in alleys waiting for the maintenance droids who would never come, faded lights over dingy buildings advertising any number of illicit activities. If it was illegal and profitable you could get it here.

Oil splashed over the hero's sparkling boots, at least he hoped it was oil. There wasn't time to check, he ran on. His persuers were gaining. His highly developed senses told him so, without even necessitating a look behind. If memory served, they were big and nasty. A human and a Zabrak, both male, sporting light custom armor and heavy armaments. The hero could expect blasters, explosives and plenty of vibro-blades. Nothing he couldn't handle.

The hero turned right suddenly, careening through the entryway of a seedy little bar. He knocked over a tipsy Bothan, hopped over an astromech droid, darted and dodged through the rest of the bar's patrons who were either astonished or drunkenly apathetic to the newcomer, winked flirtatiously at a Twi'lek lady of the evening, and was out the back door in under a minute.

The Zabrak was out the door a few seconds later, blaster pistol in one hand, knife in the other. Seeing his prey before, no longer running, no longer hiding, it took him a second to react. It was all the time the hero needed. He threw a premium punch across the Zabrak's jaw, round house-kicked the blaster from his hand, dodged a slash of the knife, and rendered the mercenary unconscious with a nerve-pinch reminiscent of another, more philosophical science fiction epic. The hero stepped back, and caught the falling blaster out of the air.

That same blaster was pointed directly at the human's face as the grimy man burst into the alleyway.

"Say it," said the hero, calmly.

"It's-" The man began, eyes wide in fear.

"Say it now," the hero growled

"It's-" the human began. "It's-", and he fainted dead away. Amateurs, the hero noted.

"It's a trap," said Admiral Ackbar.

…

The hero entered his classy, apartment, tastefully decorated in the style of his home world (though critics have protested that such an architectural philosophy is in fact all wet). It was dark, but the hero let there be light with a flick of his fingers.

"It's a snap," said Admiral Ackbar.

…

The hero could not be late; he had an important rendezvous to attend. For a second he pondered how impeccably to dress. The hero weighed his options as he weighed the object in his hands, before planting it firmly on his head.

"It's a cap," said Admiral Ackbar.

…

The hero was never late, nor was he early, he arrived precisely when he intended too. But apparently he intended to arrive half an hour early. Long enough for him to swing the gym next door to the restaurant. It felt good to be back in his natural element again, moving back and forth and back and forth across…

"Excuse me my good man," enquired a passing senatorial aide, "What variety of exercise would you call that?"

"It's a lap," said Admiral Ackbar.

…

She arrived exactly 37.5 seconds late. But it was worth it just to see her dress, a shimmering waterfall of diaphanous material. The hero could not restrain himself; he felt such a disturbance in the force.

"Great Plagious's ghost," he wriggled his brows. "Our cruisers cannot repel firepower of that magnitude!"

Her blow propelled the hero and his chair backwards onto the floor.

"It's a slap," said Admiral Ackbar.

…

The hero was undaunted; there would be other women. They could not resist him. For now he would dine well, twice as well to be specific. The hero decided that next time he wouldn't order in advance.

Nearby, a scuffle broke out, a mangy canine creature pulling a blaster on his so-called business partner. The hero took his time finishing his food; sure they would wait for him to involve himself, and then said a few words to the pair on his way to the door.

Violence set aside, the restaurant's patrons quickly gathered round for another conflict, one of words and minds and auto tune.

The barman happily made the hero's meal free of charge as bloodshed was avoided and a less messy entertainment created simultaneously. "What are they doing?" He asked the hero in awe.

"It's a rap," said Admiral Ackbar.

…

Just as he was about to exit the establishment, the hero experienced a call to adventure. He doubled back, and made way for the men's refresher. It was time to take a…

"No," Admiral Ackbar changed his mind judiciously, "That humor is too low brow. Leave it for the Clone Wars."

…

The theater was dark and silent. Mr. L did not speak till long after the credits rolled.

"I'm not sure about this," he said. "It's certainly a new approach, but how well does it stand in comparison to the saga? I don't want to make three more mistakes. What do you think?" Mr. L turned around, looking to the movie star in the row behind him. With the satisfied air of one whose opinion should be trusted, the star spoke.

"It's a wrap," said Admiral Ackbar.


End file.
